Promise
by ZiYu
Summary: There was plenty for him to feel moody about; his wealth was certainly not one of those things. And when the time came for him to relinquish his grasp on those precious coins, at least he knew that it would be looked after by that foolish princeling.


**Disclaimer:** KHR is not mine in any way, shape, or form. Heck, I saw these little plastic miniatures of the Guardians in a stationary store, and I don't even own one of _those_. They looked sort of demented though. Trust there to be such cheaply made toys sold here.

Well, onto the story. I hope you have fun reading.

* * *

**Promise**

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* * *

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_One thousand...two thousand...four thousand...seven thousand..._

He couldn't remember when it really started.

_Ten thousand...twenty-three thousand...forty-one thousand...sixty-eight thousand..._

He remembered being materialistic in the past, back in the days when he was known as Viper. It was a quality he always possessed, a natural byproduct of self-interest. Money makes the world go around, after all—it didn't hurt to have excess of it.

_One-hundred thousand...two-hundred-fifty-five thousand...seven-hundred-thirty-nine thousand...nine-hundred-eighty-four thousand..._

But he couldn't for the life of him pinpoint the time when materialism transmuted into fixation, when simple greed warped into an unrelenting obsession. When money transformed from the sign of a secure life to the monument of his very existence.

_Two million...forty-six million...seven-hundred million...one billion._

After his body had shrunk, he had clung desperately to money, seeking solace in the metallic tinkering of coins, the smell of fresh, crisp bills. What he lacked in size, his growing piles of gold started to make up for. That huge account balance was the proof of his accomplishments, that fortress of gold the promise of a good life despite his cursed state.

_Twenty-seven billion...three-hundred billion...five-hundred billion...eight-hundred-fifty billion..._

He found it greatly ironic that it was money—tangible, concrete, inanimate, mindless—that was best at toying with people, its inherent ability to deceive, to twist, far beyond that of any mist illusionist—himself included.

_Sixteen trillion..._

_Six-hundred-thirty trillion..._

_Nine-hundred trillion._

Not that any of that mattered now.

* * *

He procured a red pouch from the sleeves of his cloak, idly thumbing two gold coins in his miniscule hand. His black cloak fluttered slightly in the night breeze as he stood on the silver banister.

Bel caught sight of that glint of gold, and he proceeded to draw out a few knives in hand to idly twirl about as he stepped out of the Varia Mansion onto the dark balcony.

"Shishishi. The baby is counting his allowance?"

The addressed baby did not spare a glance back towards the blonde tiara-donning male, opting to give only a small huff as he pocketed his money.

"You owe me 3 million for your tardiness. I worked overtime and killed the lot before you managed to come within a mile radius of that group of circus fodder."

Bel's lips curved up, grin widening as he drummed three silver knives on the banister, moonlight reflecting eerily off their edges. "The Prince never owes anyone anything."

"Send the money to my bank account by tomorrow morning," Mammon simply sneered in response.

"Shishishi," he laughs creepily in a toothy grin, but his face quickly contorts to a scowl. He jabs a knife towards the indigo-pacifier-wielding baby, which strikes nothing but empty air as its target vanishes, remerging a few centimeters to the right of his original position. "But the Prince is entitled to everything in the end, indigo brat."

The hood covers half of the baby's face, but Mammon's eye roll can still be detected and felt as cold waves emanate from his tiny person.

"Live in your idle fantasy if you so wish to," he shot back caustically as the self-proclaimed Prince turned on his heels, heading back into the common room.

Bel cackled, tossing one blade in a graceful arc before catching it between his forefinger and thumb. "So the baby agrees with me~~"

Mammon didn't bother to grace that comment with a response.

* * *

Yes, it truly didn't matter. He was certain. But he would never claim that it was a waste of time. Even now, looking up and up at the high stack of coins around him, he felt reassured with the sight.

The shield of gold didn't make him invincible though. He could still feel the effects of those accursed rays, his limbs stiff and barely able to move, his breath light and rapid, even as he rested in this deep underground hideout.

It was time, and he might as well leave these mounds of gold in at least half-capable hands. And—he smirked to himself as he went through his silent musings—if whatever amazing objectives are reached through the use of this money source, a large portion of credit would be given to him.

In the very center of those walls of gold, was a pile of all his Mammon Chains, his research notes to create them, and a letter, all disguised with his mist flames as a pile of silver coins and paper bills.

_The Vongola Tenth's Mist Guardian has an apprentice who lays claim to a handful of rather artful illusions. When the youngling comes to the Varia's doorstep, my position and this fortune that goes along with it shall be his. This transaction will be overseen by Belphegor of the Varia._

And that was that. But after all was said and done, it certainly was _still_ his money.

Let this be his contribution to this world, the cloaked infant thought to himself as he released a soft snort into the dark quiet.

* * *

"...So."

Bel turned around to see a floating baby in his face, unseen eyebrows rising into his hairline. Mammon's glide came to an abrupt stop as he softly exhaled a bit of breath before continuing. "That...business transaction."

He pulled out a roll of tissue from his cloak sleeves, blew on it, and then tossed it towards the blonde's face.

Bel's expression contorted into one of disgust as he quickly stepped back. The wad of tissue still hit the front of his purple-and-black striped shirt, which he quickly wiped with the bottom trim of his own dark coat.

"I am the Prince, you little peasant, not a rubbish bin."

The corners of Mammon's lips curved upwards ever-so-slightly, the shadows of a smirk. "You may want to pick that up. It's a map to my stash after all."

The curl of those lips, the rigid set of his jaw, and the furrowing of his eyebrows all softened and dissipated as Bel's expression suddenly lit up, toothy grin threatening to split his face into two.

"The money is finally mine then? Shishishi. I'll take good care of it~~"

"No. But I have left two-thousand for you as payment. The rest is yours to guard until it is relinquished to its new holder, and you will continue to look over that person and my finances afterwards."

The beaming smile was wiped off his countenance instantaneously. "Stingy Arcobaleno."

"I will hold you to that promise. So care for it well."

Bel whipped out five silver knives and flung them towards the baby's head. He hissed as he missed. Again, and as usual.

"Unless, of course," Mammon said nonchalantly as he hovered around the blades, "you want to suffocate to death by mucus-covered tentacles."

Mammon then disappeared in a puff of dark clouds, as Bel quirked his lips down into a frown again, confusion settling when he thought of the baby's last words, the oddity of aforementioned lines finally being realized.

"_Him_? Relinquishing _money_?"

* * *

The hood hid his eyes from the rest of the world, but if it was lifted there still wouldn't be much to see. His gaze remained cold and steady as he gazed at the Millefiore mannequin of a soldier, the kid in the ridiculous witching outfit who would no doubt be the harbinger of their demise.

It may actually be better this way. His cursed destiny left him with nothing, really, but the empty promise of some faint happiness as he observed bubbling fools and cheerful imbeciles from the shadows.

At least like this, he would be able to embrace Oblivion in its entirety, dead to the taunting of the world around him, the normalcy of which any semblance he once had that was ripped from him so cruelly.

It would be agonizing, but he also relished in the fact that the pain would only last a moment longer.

Such thoughts were broken when he suddenly heard the other Arcobaleno's strangled cry of dismay, as Collonello—fool that he was—leapt up with all his leftover strength and covered for him. He only spared a small frown for the crumpled body that now lay at his feet, wincing slightly at the futile and wasted sacrifice.

His eyes closed as he surrendered his already immobile body, lying limply on the icy floor. The anti-Trinisette rays hit him directly at full blast, yet he could only lift the corners of his mouth slightly into a hidden smirk as he _knew_ that the blonde idiot would look over his legacy well despite the royally airy head that rested upon those arrogant shoulders.

* * *

The newcomer glanced down apathetically at the hat between his hands, staring straight into its over-sized cutesy emerald pair of eyes.

"...Bel-sempai."

"Yes?"

The boy's even tone made the question seem more like a statement as he fitted the article onto his head. "Why did you give me such an odd hat."

The blonde prince smirked and lobed two knives over, embedding them right into the back of the green-haired teen's giant hat-adorning head.

"It's a ultra-durable frog hat, and the Prince spent a good two thousand on it, so you better wear it forever and ever from now on and through your next life, Froggie."

The boy, unmoved, replied in perfect monotone, "And if I have no desire to—"

Another blade was launched towards his skull.

"Or else."


End file.
